lancerusfandomcom-20200213-history
The Siege on Brill, October 18th, 1013
Part 1 Never before had the tavern in Fletcher’s Nook seen such commotion: were it not for the smiling faces and hearty laughter heard within, on would have thought a battle raged inside the old building. “Another round, Miss Lilly! My boys deserve nothing less!” The thunderous roar that commenced shook the very foundations of the edifice. One of the men stood on the table, his boots caked with mud. “And may I propose a toast to our most wonderful brother of all, the man whom kings fear and bards bed, the champion of Valrose: Greyne Mobilis!” Almost against his will, the young neophyte was herded to the center of the chamber where his brothers proceeded to shower him with bellowing cheers and slaps to the back. He was young amongst his company, though none of the men thought him any less important than themselves. Indeed, Greyne was now their token warrior, a prize not only to be treasured but shown off. His victory at the Tournament of Champions was unprecedented; the title almost always went to sons of nobles, great knights, and mighty warriors. Young Mobilis was none of these, but on that day, everyone saw him as royalty. The entire street was alight in merriment this night. Greyne’s return heralded an uproar in celebration. All of Fletcher’s Nook was indebted to the Hand of Men, a small group that made its home in the slums of Arkrest. The Hand of Men had done wonders for the impoverished alley, whether it be raising money, rebuilding homes, or finding futures for its youth. A victory for The Hand of Men was a victory for every family that knew them. “Greyne, may I have a word?” The guild master of The Hand stood beside Greyne, a soft smile on his face. “Of course, leader. Outside?” The guild master nodded and the two proceeded to exit the chaos. “Greyne, do not imbibe too heavily in the drink this night. You will need to be ready for travel tomorrow.” “Master Rhudau, it has not even been one whole day since my return to Arkrest. May we not rest at least a little while? You have not even told me where it is we are going.” Rhudau Barrownost put a comforting hand on Greyne’s shoulder. “I know, my child, but the life of The Hand is not an easy one. As its champion, you must learn this responsibility sooner rather than later.” “I am aware of the responsibility master, and I refuse to back down from it. It’s just…” “Greyne, never before have you hesitated to follow my instructions before. This is very much unlike you.” “-You are right to place your faith in me, master. You trained me well for this. But the contest was easily won for me, do I not deserve some ''rest?” “You will have your rest soon, my son. The Hand gives freely, but only so long as your own remains open to receive. If I did not have the utmost faith in you, I would not be asking such a grievous task of you.” Greyne placed his hand on Rhudau’s arm in a pleading manner. “Tell me where I am heading tomorrow, and I will rest easier.” Rhudau gently removed Greyne’s hand. “Very well, though I am sorry to say that what I am to tell you will not be easy for you to hear, my son.” “I am ready.” ……… The hot air baked Greyne into a wet mess as he rode upon his horse. The Larken countryside stretched before him, washed in yellow as the sun beat overhead. He attempted to ignore his discomfort, but all there was to distract his senses was the mission ahead of him. He did not prefer to dwell on that. Rhudau Barrownost had decided that it was time for The Hand to pursue its ultimate goal within the realm of Lancerus. Though vague on the details, Greyne was to ride west to Oden country with an entourage of fellow brothers. In the town of Brill they would meet a contact who would give them further information. Greyne was told he was crucial to the operation and that he would be erecting a new order in the far off town. There would be battle, though Rhudau had not said why. Though it all seemed strange and disconnected to the young warrior, it was rarely his interest to question his master. These orders, however, haunted his ride. “My brother Greyne,” a voice wailed from behind. “May we not stop and rest a while? Methinks my crotch is becoming one with the saddle.” “No rest until nightfall, Manders.” ''No rest ever, Greyne thought to himself. “Sir, my nether regions are swimming in a lake of sweat. May we not at least stop to drain ourselves?” “We must press on. And please, keep your hygienic issues to yourself.” Manders sighed, stroking his moistened beard. “Very well, brother Greyne. Rhudau would deem me unworthy at the sight of my complaining. We press on.” “Just imagine how your horse feels, Manders. It will not be long, the sun is well past its peak.” Greyne did not know why, perhaps it was the heat, but his tongue and mouth tasted profusely of blood. Part 2 It would be several weeks before the company reached Brill. The town was quite small, perhaps only one hundred inhabitants at most. Smoke rose gently from the stacks in the valley, and the steady creaking of an ancient windmill calmed Greyne as he rode past. Brill was quaint, even by Flethcer’s Nook standards. It wasn’t dirty by any means, but there was little here that wasn’t old or repaired in some way. It was a generational town, one that had seen its prime many ages ago, but still trudged on. Greyne admired the subtle beauty of such a place. If this were to be the sight of The Hand’s expansions, perhaps it was not so bad after all. Greyne and company approached the inn, the largest building in the town. Greyne dismounted and ventured in, his companions waiting outside. The innkeeper was a portly man, his hair thick on his body save for his shiny domed head. “Welcome to my humble establishment, young master. What can I get you for on this fine day?” “How many rooms do you have available?” “Well sir, are you bringing company with you? I can fit four to a room, if need be.” “I’m travelling with 39 companions.” “Well bless me, 39? By the Seven, what in holy Rorn’s name brings your party all the way out here to Brill?” “We are travelling mercenaries, we’ve been hired for peacekeeping in the mines near Halia Mortes.” Halia Mortes, the greatest city in Oden, was as much a legend to the rural folk of the country as Dragons were to the Arnish. Few country dwellers rarely ever saw the great city in their lifetime, preferring to sell their goods to “loaders”, caravans that acted as conduits between the great cities and the countryside of Lancerus. Halia Mortes needed little imported food, as the entire city was surrounded by lush farmland. The innkeep, at the mention of the city, assumed the prestigious ranking of the man far exceeded his own. “Well, my lord, I can only hold another 15 or so. I would say to look elsewhere, but I am the only inn around these parts. Brill rarely gets visitors, despite its natural beauty.” “My men don’t require soft beds. We’re accustomed to worse. If my men sleep on the floors, how many then could you fit?” “I would feel uncomfortable charging your men for a night’s stay if they are only paying for a roof and not for the beds. I also regret to say that I will not have the means to feed all your men come morning. My stores are ill prepared for 40.” Greyne dropped a hefty sack of silver onto the table, a portion of his earnings from Valrose. “I mean to bring prosperity to Brill’s economy. I may as well start here.” The innkeeper was astounded at the generosity, a wealth far exceeding an entire month’s earnings gleaming under his nose. “Well bless me, you are truly are glorious man! What name may I sign you in under?” “We are the company of the Hand of Men, and I am their guide, Greyne Mobilis.” ……… The morning after a surprisingly restful sleep, Greyne dressed casually and took a walk through the beaten paths of Brill. There was a muddy aroma in the air; a moisture that both warmed the face and cooled the lungs. The buzz of insects pervaded the air, and Greyne felt very much like an animal caught meandering through his wilderness. “Greyne Mobilis?” He turned his head, the sensual tone of a woman drawing his attention. Then, upon the nape of his neck, he felt the trailing tease of a warm finger. “I’m assuming you are my contact?” He had yet to see the women, still somewhat taken aback by her touch. “Yes, Rhudau told me you would be coming, with an entourage?” Greyne turned towards her, allowing his eyes to enjoy her visage; she was tall, firm in all the right places (accentuated by a form-fitting garment with revealing cuts and dips), and her face displayed both experience and youth. Fire burned in her eyes underneath her jet-black hair. She was gorgeous in every sense that Greyne had ever understood. “Yes,” he said, minding his eyes. “There are 40 of us.” “Excellent, that will be more than enough, particularly with a champion in our midst.” “What would you have us do?” She beckoned for him to follow, taking her leave of the sun and dipping into a cool, wooded valley below the ridge. Greyne followed, intrigued by this mysterious and charming maiden. The valley was cooler, the canopy of trees enveloping the pair like swaddled babes. There was a closeness here, and Greyne seemed to notice that the woman, garbed in earthy reds and browns, seemed to give off a palpable heat. “My name is Gi-Hallivalah.” Greyne hesitated. She smiled gently, “though I go by Halli.” “That is a very foreign name to me, Halli. From where do you hail?” She was already drifting towards a shallow pond, the blue water reflecting her dress brilliantly in the rays of checkered sun. “The Wastes. But my origin is not why you are here, champion. Tell me, do you serve The Hand of Men with your whole heart?” “Of course, the Hand is my family and strength. Never once have I doubted that.” “And you would be prepared to do whatever it took to advance The Hand’s agenda?” Greyne sensed a foulness to the question. “Does The Hand not serve man? Are we not here to do good?” “Greyne Mobilis, a man who has an infected leg must endure great pain, perhaps even the loss of a limb, to save his life. That is the truth of life: pain. Are you willing to cause pain to save lives? Sever limbs to save bodies?” “…Yes.” “I will be blunt. The Hand of Men has long had an aversion to the religious zealots of Oden, and very much so the entirety of Lancerus. The archaic practices of reliance on non-existent deities has slowed progression for too long; The Hand will be the first of many to rebel against this dogma.” “And how are we to fight against this?” Halli dipped one foot into the cool pond water, the water seeming to caress her smooth skin like a lover’s fingers. “Sever the limb, one cut at a time. Arguably, the head of religious power in the West is here in Oden: Halia Mortes and, more specifically, the order of the Bishops. We attack the Bishops, ending their influence through propaganda and violence.” “So I am to surmise that I am here to assassinate Matthias?” “Not assassinate, Greyne.” She began to loosen the belt around her waist. “Capture. There will be casualties; his men are of little concern, as is his family. But Matthias himself must remain alive. Other than his personal guards, you will find frail resistance. Brill knows little of the Bishop.” Indeed, the town was sorely lacking in the way of politics or religion, vastly contrary to the culture of the grand cities. Still, it came as quite the shock to Greyne when he discovered that few people in Brill even knew that a bishop was staying among them. Bishop Geralt Matthias was taking a personal leave from the religious duties of the city. Under rather conspicuous circumstances, Matthias had arrived at Brill to visit his family, though few people took notice. Greyne understood that Matthias preferred the rolling hills of grass to the tiered arches of the city. He found it astonishing that despite the incredible lack of things to keep one busy in Brill, gossip had yet to becoming a common past time. “Still,” she continued, her belt dropping into the pond, “their numbers exceed your own. How much does the young Mobilis trust his abilities?” Greyne felt something tugging him towards the woman, though he remained steadfast. “I trust my abilities more than I trust the sun to rise.” “That is good.” She disrobed, her exposed flesh searing into Greyne’s chest like a hot nail. He averted his eyes, though he could feel her gaze piercing back at him. Something was desperately trying to yank him into the pond with her, something far beyond his own carnal desire. She spoke with a beautiful harshness, “however, if you refuse to acknowledge that which stares you in the face, your talent will run out.” She submerged into the pond, wading to the center until the water rose to just below her neck. “Greyne, ready your men for tonight. I will retire to the inn after my bath. Would you care to join me?” No ''but ''yes. ''She was doing this somehow. “With all due respect, Halli, I’m not the kind of man to enjoy the company of a woman in that manner. I’m waiting for the right time and the right woman.” Her smile pierced him, “Oh I know exactly what kind of man you are, Mobilis. Go, prepare your men. Tonight, the Hand of Men shall take its first steps towards its ultimate goal.” The pull on Greyne’s heart became a push, and as soon as he realized what had transpired, his legs had flown him back into the inn. Halli… He had only talked with her for a mere half hour, and yet, he felt like she had exposed his every secret. What was that? ……… Night had fallen. In the cover of darkness and thick forest, 40 men now surrounded the small mansion on the outskirts of Brill. Joining them was Halli, her body covered in her usual brown and red attire. This night, however, she brought along a wicked, ivory snake dagger. Greyne noticed her brandishing the weapon, a beautiful, sickening grin on her face. ''She’s not actually fighting, is she? “Purely precaution for myself, Mobilis. I assure you, your grunts will be accomplishing the dirty work here.” He was sure he had not spoken that aloud. “I surrender control of the Hand to you this night, Greyne. They strike at your command.” “As it should be. What do we know of the building?” She admired his directness with a sly smile. “Matthias is holed up in his bedroom on the top floor, with his family in tow I’m sure. The grounds are watched by a solid 50 men, with at least 10 more inside the mansion. As far as equipment, there were several crossbows amongst the entourage, though most were equipped with martial, melee gear.” “Had they known the Hand was paying them a visit, you think they would have invested in more.” “They outnumber you, Greyne.” “But not outmuscle.” The leather on his war pole moaned in anticipation as he clenched it. He raised his hand, his soldiers tensing up. With a flick of his wrist, Greyne sent the troops into a flock formation. They surrounded the enclave, hugging the outer walls of the mansion complex. Soldiers stationed on the walls were introduced to the lethal marksmen of the Hand, arrows embedding their cold tips deep into their chests. They fell silently off the wall and out into the horde of Hand soldiers, now amassing like an infection. After noting that the guards on the walls were all killed, Greyne used the cover of night to conceal his aided ascent up the wall. Greyne ran the length of the wall until he reached the gate. He pulled a dagger from his cloak and dispatched two more guards; they had no time to react to Greyne’s lethal speed. Greyne surveyed the grounds of the estate and counted the soldiers he could see. There were at least 40 men in the courtyard. Greyne set his war pole upon the wall and drew his bow and arrow from his back. With several precise shots, the soldiers guarding the gate lever drew closer to the Seven. Greyne dismounted the wall and threw the gate open. Soldiers of the Hand poured in like rabid dogs of war, the unfortunate militia inside ill prepared for such an onslaught. As the battle raged, Greyne weaved through the conflict and made for the mansion in the center of the courtyard. The doors yielded under the force of his war pole. Without a second thought Greyne pushed through the ranks and ascended the looming staircase before him. There, on the second floor, stood Matthias. His arms were raised in surrender. “I do not know who you are,” he said. “But If I surrender myself to you, will you cease this bloodshed?” “As you wish, my lord,” Greyne said, respecting the surrender even as he wiped blood from his brow. “Whom do I surrender to?” he asked. “The Hand of Men.” Part 3 “So did’ja hear? One of the bishops of Halia Mortes has gone missin’. Some group callin’ themselves the Hand of Men is claimin’ responsibility.” The tavern that night was cold despite the roaring flame in the pit. Old peasants talked grim tales over their stew. “Aye, I heard the same. Bilge-rat Larken scum from what I hear.” “I had heard they was from Gildor or even from across the ways, far south as Arn.” “Larkens through and through. Assassins in the night, always been a Larken method.” “Regardless, they says they want the Archbishop to pay for his release.” “Ya think Daykin would do something like that? Pay Larkens for a bishop?” “Ain’t a clue, but that ain’t even the best part. They say the leader of this group is a mysterious woman clad in red. Got a grudge against the Bishops, supposedly.” “Ah what woman doesn’t have a grudge?” “Ha fair enough. It gets better, though. Her right hand man? None otha’ then the champion of Valrose, Greyne Mobilis.” “I heard from the east that he went untouched in the tournament.” “Almost, got cut in the face from a laughing skull whelp.” A man in the corner of the room perked up at the name. “Excuse me, but did you say Greyne Mobilis?” he said. “Sure enough, word from Brill says the Larken led some 40 men against the Bishop. Say he took on 30 men single-handed.” “I’m sure he did. Tell me, does anyone know where they might be now?” “They disappeared just as fast as they came; nobody knows for sure where they went off to. I’d bet back to Larkenvale, most likely. I sure as sin wouldn’t wanna stay in Oden after kidnappin’ a bishop like that.” “Very well,” he said, finishing his stew. He stood up and retrieved a hefty hammer from his side. He lifted it onto his shoulder, causing the tavern floor to creak under the colossal shifting weight. “By my breath, boy, what in blazes are you gonna do with that?” “Not sure yet, friend, but there aren’t many problems in life I’ve found that Eberrus here can’t solve.” “Say, you’re Unnis’s boy, aren’t ya? I’ve seen you in the next town over. It’s uh pleasuh to meetcha.” “Likewise. If you’ll excuse me, my trip home is nearly complete and I’d rather be on my way.” He left the tavern and walked into the cold night. The wind moaned and promised winter, though the man did not flinch. He walked solemnly towards his home, his hand tight around his hammer. Perhaps there was some work needing to be done. Notable Achievements - Last event of Lancerus's first season - Tested Defend the Bishop. Needs adjusting. - First event with action photography Category:World Lore